Lights from a car lit up the road as it came up behind her. She stood back and waited in safety. When the car stopped, Patricia felt relieved.
“What are you doing all the way out here?”
Her relief was abruptly shattered when she noticed the knife. She turned to run, but before she took her first step, the blade found its mark. A searing pain went through her back and into her chest, and then another and another. Unable to breathe, she crumpled to the cold, dirty ground. Curling into the fetal position did not stop the torture her assailant continued to inflict. She breathed her last, labored breath and stared, unbelieving, at her executioner. She went painfully to her rest, the hazard lights of her car warning oncoming motorists of impending danger.
7:00 p.m.
It was murder day, the fourteenth, and another snowstorm hit the city, turning the dirty streets white again. Christmas was over, the New Year celebrated, and now the long wait for spring left many fighting cabin fever, including Sarah. She worked nonstop on the foundation, thankful to be able to concentrate on something besides how she might die. As day stretched into evening, they all feared the murderer’s next move. Steven insisted on tight security, since they could no longer use the apartment, and now, during the board meetings, Sarah lived in a suite of rooms at the Sheraton. Although she was looking for another permanent home in the city, the task had not yet made her top ten list of things to do. Steven’s primary concern was how the killer would contact her with proof of his deed. He arranged for an undercover officer to be with her, even during the board meeting.
At seven, Sarah met the directors in the hotel restaurant for a dinner meeting. Karen’s presentation was on the agenda, and Sarah was excited for her. Her contributions deserved recognition, and Sarah wanted to give her friend the spotlight. She was determined to see more women on the board.
Gerry seated her at the head of the table, and a waitress began taking the drink orders. Sarah lifted her napkin and noticed a white envelope on her plate. She searched the room for the undercover officer, but failed to find him, and Eddie was out of sight, too.
She put the envelope in her purse and excused herself from the table. She looked in the bar for her guards, but neither of them was in the room. She feared an emergency, maybe the discovery of a body had taken their attention from her. She hurried to the ladies room, and, after staring at the card for several minutes, she opened it carefully. She found the same red heart, but there was another sheet of paper. Sarah looked in the mirror, but she didn’t see her reflection. Instead, she saw the faces of each dead woman, and she wondered who the third one would be. Sarah’s body trembled, her breath caught in her throat, and a sudden headache pounded in her skull so fiercely she almost vomited. With shaking hands, she unfolded a report card from Bartlett High School, the school she’d attended. Written in large, red letters were the words Patricia Anders—Murdered A+. Sarah shoved the items into her purse as she realized that her friend was the third face in the mirror. She vomited violently, and a cold sweat covered her.
They’d been acquaintances in high school, and, when they attended the University of Anchorage, Patricia had been assigned as her roommate. They quickly became fast friends and had stayed in touch through letters, cards, and the occasional e-mail. In fact, they recently had lunch to celebrate the signing of the new school district contract. Now, Patricia was dead—murdered simply because she knew Sarah. She could barely control the trembling or the tears, but she knew she needed to stay calm. After taking a deep breath and splashing her face with cold water, Sarah tried to think of what her next move should be.
Karen hurried into the room. “I’m so sorry, I’m late. I couldn’t decide how to wear my hair.”
“You look great,” Sarah said, but she struggled to put the strength in her voice. Karen did look good; she wore a dark blue pinstripe suit with a crisp white blouse and her hair done up in a bun. “Very professional.”
Karen was applying lip gloss. “Well, I decided to take a page out of your book. I thought the more professional I appeared to be, the more proficient my presentation.” She finally took notice of Sarah. “Oh, my god, Sarah, you look awful. Can I get you anything?”
“No, but I’m really not feeling well. I think it’s a stomach flu. I know this is your big presentation—”
“Don’t worry about me; I can do this. Gerry will help me. Go home. For heaven’s sake, take care of yourself. I’ll take care of the board members. Are you all right alone?”
“Yes. Thank you. Please give my apologies.”
Traumatized, Sarah went straight to her room. She put on her coat, boots, and gloves, and calmly left the hotel. She was out on the street walking up Sixth Avenue before anyone realized she was gone.
Sarah strolled the six blocks from the hotel to her apartment complex. Thoughts of snow occupied her, as the flakes made the sidewalk moist and slippery. She enjoyed the walk, and had no memory of valentines, murder, or bodyguards. When she reached the apartment building, she went straight for the Jeep she kept in the garage, started the vehicle, and headed to her log cabin in the mountains.
Steven surveyed the scene of the murder. Instead of a blonde with green eyes, the victim—a brunette—was wearing a blonde wig and had a mask fastened over her face. It was a photograph of Sarah’s face, and held in place with an elastic band. Unnerved, Steven knew his concern for Sarah was clouding his judgment. He called the officer in charge of Sarah to notify him that they had located the third victim. He quickly discovered Sarah was gone, and ran to his truck.
Anderson was immediately at his side. “Steve, where are you going? We have a fresh murder.”
“Joe can handle it. Sarah’s missing. I have to find her.”
“Why? She’s under protection; she’s probably in the ladies room.” Anderson said in disbelief. “Steven, your job is here. The others can handle Sarah. What about your position? You’re team leader. Send Joe, or Helen—hell I’ll go.”
“Sergeant Anderson, you have your orders. Don’t question me again! Understood?”
Anderson backed down. Steven knew his job was to protect the victim, and Sarah was the victim. Aggravated, he pulled onto the road, and raced back to town.
He called John. “What’s the situation?”
“We can’t locate her. The entire hotel is on alert. I have men going room to room.” Steven could hear his distress. “Damn it, how could this happen? That cop you assigned said he got a call that a body had been found in the basement, and they needed him. Eddie got a call telling him Sarah had fainted upstairs. Both of them distracted, the killer made his move. Damn it Steven if something happens to her, I’ll never…”
“I know John, have you tried her cell phone? Maybe we can track her.”
“Sarah doesn’t carry one. She hates…”
Steven cut the call short. “Great, I should’ve known. The one woman in the world who would refuse to carry a cell phone goes missing.” His anxiety grew.
Steven was waiting at a red light on the outskirts of town when he spotted Sarah. She was driving a Jeep in the opposite direction. Steven made a U-turn, and called John.
“Shit, Steve, I’d forgotten, Sarah kept a Jeep at the apartment. She must be on her way home. He got word to her. Somehow, he’s made contact. We’re on the way.”
Steven kept his distance. Why are you alone? What made you leave the hotel? He debated stopping her, and he pulled in the lane beside her and tried to get her attention, but she never took her eyes off the road. She appeared fine, and she was driving safely. Steven saw no panic, and he wondered again why she left her protection. He saw the lights of the aid cars and realized Sarah would be driving by the location of the third murder. Steven wondered if the crime scene was her intended destination. They were going downhill, and the crime scene was at the bottom. Flares and the lights of police cars lit up the area. An officer was directing traffic to the one open lane.
Steven saw that they were loading the body bag into the ambulance. He
decided to stop her, and switched on his light and siren. Sarah’s vehicle did not slow or stop. She was going faster—too fast. The police officer at the bottom of the hill signaled her to stop. Steven waited for her to slow down, and then he realized she could not, because when she hit the brakes, the Jeep did not respond.
“He’s killing her… just like Michael.” Steven prayed for her safety but all he could do was watch and wait.
Sarah steered the Jeep to the shoulder, but she was going too fast. The Jeep went over the embankment, was airborne for a few seconds, and then hit the snow-covered ground, bounced, and kept racing across the field. Headed straight for the trees, Sarah cut the wheel to the left, causing the vehicle to roll repeatedly.
Steven stopped his truck, jumped out, and motioned to the others to follow. Paramedics and cops followed him over the embankment. Fearing the worst, Steven was at the Jeep, almost before the vehicle stopped tumbling. Her vehicle lay crumpled and on its side. Steven found Sarah unconscious but still in her seat. The seatbelt had saved her life, but blood poured from a head wound. Until the paramedics got her to a hospital, he would know nothing.
Steven stayed with her in the ambulance and was by her side when she regained consciousness.
She stared at him and whispered, “Michael … you came back for me.”
Steven kissed her forehead. “You’re safe, angel. You’re safe.”
She closed her eyes. The ambulance slowed down; the blizzard had picked up in ferocity. Whiteout conditions made travel a hazard
arah survived the accident with relatively minor injuries, and those on scene were convinced a five-foot cushion of snow had saved her life. Still, she suffered a concussion, a broken wrist, a bruised shoulder, and a collection of contusions that left her with a variety of colorful and tender spots in unusual places.
Her stay in the hospital should have been longer, but the doctors could not keep her more than two days. Sarah hated hospitals and was glad to return to her own home. However, the grief she felt over Patricia’s death was more than she could bear, and Sarah shut herself off from her friends again. This time she used her injuries as an excuse, and, with Emma running interference for her, she saw no one. But Emma quickly realized the isolation was not good for her and changed tactics. She planned a dinner party and invited all of Sarah’s friends and coworkers, and then she simply told Sarah she would be the guest of honor.
After Sarah’s accident, Steven concentrated on the case. They had found the card in her purse, but how the fiend had delivered it still mystified them, and interviews with the Sheraton’s staff proved useless. However, the tampered brake line of her Jeep bothered Steven the most. He knew the person responsible was someone close to her, but Steven had no evidence pointing to a culprit. The officer keeping surveillance over Chase during the time of the last murder had gotten an emergency call and lost track of Chase for several hours. Steven felt like a rookie on his first case, where Murphy’s Law ruled every move made by his department.
In his office, he read and reread the file, and searched the databases for information on Sarah’s business associates and friends. He had the notes Sarah carefully documented after Michael’s death, and, while they were good, she was right: there was no clear suspect. In the impound lot, he studied the vehicles of the victims, determined to spot a fingerprint or a scratch missed by forensics.
He had Terry O’Conner check out all the people who had made negative comments during his investigation. Nothing materialized—they admitted to relying on rumor as a basis for their opinions. He ordered Anderson to pick up copies of the yearbooks from Bartlett High School. When he got them, he read the descriptions beside the pictures of Sarah’s classmates, hoping to find a clue, an indication of jealousy—anything. Steven would have leapt for joy if one had read, “When I graduate, I want to marry Sarah Davis.”
Every day, he requested the key for the evidence locker and stood at the open door, hoping to see something new, hoping somehow to trace them back to the owner. His head throbbed from the attempt to tie the clues together. In his apartment, he paced the floor, endlessly going over the few theories he had until he fell, fully clothed, onto his bed in exhaustion.
Steven feared his feelings for Sarah clouded his judgment, causing him to miss something obvious. His team went over the scant evidence—two fibers, no DNA, no footprints, and no witnesses. He believed Michael’s death was the beginning of this odyssey, even though Sarah’s Jeep provided no more clues than the missing Porsche had.. Steven’s chief suspect Chase, remained mum on his relationship with Sarah, and Sarah was talking to no one.
Steven surmised Chase killed Michael and then began this bizarre killing spree to win her back, to make her vulnerable, and force her into his waiting arms. He feared that if Chase could not achieve his goal, Sarah would be his final victim. Steven’s problem was that he had no proof to back up his theory.
Steven knew he was overlooking something, but what that was eluded him. He had, so far, been able to keep Sarah’s name out of the newspapers in regards to the case, but her recent accident had her picture plastered across the state. He no longer held back when questioning the board members. Keeping the threat to Sarah’s life out of the discussion, he openly questioned each of them, claiming the significance was the date of their meetings. Still, they provided him with little. He interviewed everyone connected to Sarah, from the maître d’ at her favorite restaurant to her groundskeeper and housekeeper. Then he began an extensive investigation into their alibis, but time ticked away.
He called an old friend with the FBI at Quantico, Frank Stover, a behavioral psychologist, who had helped him with several other cases. Frank was a former instructor of Steven’s from college.
“Frank, I think I know what the profile is, but I’m calling to see if you agree, or if you can give me something more.”
“From the files you sent, I agree with you, regarding her ex-boyfriend? But tell me why you’re so sure it’s Chase.”
Steven explained his reasoning.
“Yet, you still have no DNA, nothing tangible?”
“Nothing, I’ve never worked such sterile crime scenes.”
“I think you’re on to something, but don’t assume anything. What about John or Eddie Thomas? They’re very close to her. The lack of evidence indicates someone knowledgeable about forensics. Both of the Thomas brothers have the background. Then what about her assistant, Jackson Hyde, he seems to have problems with strong women. Have you looked closely at him? Several people have unlimited access to Ms. Palmer. If you’ve vetted them to your satisfaction, then step away. Scott Chase is a good suspect, but don’t rule anyone out.”
“All good advice. Thanks Frank.”
“No problem. Wait a minute.”
Steven could hear the shuffling of paper. “Did you find something?”
“Maybe. There’s no mention of other men in her life, except for Chase and Palmer, but she attended college in Washington State—didn’t she date?”
Steven suddenly started shuffling through his file. “I thought she met Michael in college.”
“From the information in front of me, they didn’t meet until after she graduated. She was working for a large real estate firm at the time. She left Alaska when she was nineteen, and she married Palmer just before her twenty-fourth birthday. Five years and no boyfriends, that’s a bit odd isn’t it?”
“Very. Thanks, Frank. I’ve a few more hours of work ahead of me. One other thing—the valentine cards, did your forensics lab get anything off them?”
“Nothing. Your killer used an inexpensive stencil and traced the words using a black marker—any of those items are available at most retail stores. Sorry, Steve, I don’t envy you on this one. Your culprit is stalking Ms. Palmer, but he has a secondary goal, and it’s to taunt you. He’s flaunting his forensic knowledge, and he’s working hard to show you and your department who’s in charge.”
Frank’s conclusion made Steven even more certain Scott was beh
ind it, but he decided not to leave anyone out of the investigation. He got Helen and Joe to include John, Eddie, and their staff, in the search, although he instructed them to use discretion. Then, he did a bit more research online into Sarah’s college graduation class, and the records of the sororities and fraternities on campus. Steven obtained access to the school records, and searched through yearbook photos taken during the years Sarah attended. Steven found photo after photo of her and the other men in her life. He called Gregg Night, the man who showed up in most of the pictures.
“Sarah? Really? Is she all right?”
“Yes, she’s currently under protection. I’m conducting an investigation to find the source of the threat, and I need your help to track down the men she knew in college. Maybe someone she rejected.”
Gregg laughed. “Are you kidding? Sarah broke a lot of hearts, but if anyone is suffering from rejection, it’s her.”
“I don’t understand. If she broke hearts how could they not feel rejected?”
“Well, it’s kind of a funny story. Her old man,—excuse me—an attorney for her old man came to the school shortly after Sarah registered. He said Mr. Davis, Sarah’s father, hired him to protect her, to watch out for her best interests, and, since Mr. Davis was a member of our fraternity, he wanted our help. We agreed.”
“You agreed to what?”
“We agreed to take care of Sarah, to date her, to keep her occupied with enough boyfriends she wouldn’t have time to ‘fall in love’ and get sidetracked from her goals. Those years were the most profitable for the fraternity, because this attorney promised us a huge donation each year we kept her safe. He also promised to pay the college tuition of any one who participated, and kept her too busy for nonsense.”
Murder, Madness & Love (Detective Quaid Mysteries #1) Page 20